by Laci Maskell
A smirk touches the corner of my lips. I don’t have to answer for Jesse to grab two shot glasses.
He pours two shots from the bottle of Jack and sets them on the ledge of the pool table.
“Your shot,” he tells me. “You have to break the balls and make a ball in each of the four furthest pockets.”
I bock at that and say, “That’s not a trick shot. That’s pure luck.”
“It’s my shot to call. If you don’t think you can do it, you might as well just take the shot now.”
“Hardy-har-har,” I say at his stupid pun.
I line up the cue ball, knowing I’m going to have to drink anyway. I close my eyes and push the cue stick into the cue ball. I hear a loud smack and open my eyes. The balls are flying across the table. They knock into each other then fling away. One striped ball falls into a side pocket. Yes. One down three to go. Two balls fall into a corner pocket. Two down. The balls knock into each other some more before a solid ball falls into the other side pocket. Three down. I may not have to drink after all. Then, the balls go still. My head falls to my chest in defeat.
I look over to Jesse who is smiling like an idiot. “Drink up,” he says holding out the shot glass to me.
I take it from him and throw it back, groaning as it burns its way down my throat.
“Payback’s a bitch, my friend,” I tell Jesse, shaking my head to rid myself of the burn.
I eye the pool table to find a tricky shot for Jesse to take. He crosses his arms in anticipation. I take my time, making him think I’ve got something insane in store for him.
“Okay, I’ve got it,” I say placing my hands on the table to explain the shot. “You have to hit the solid two ball into the left corner pocket without any other balls hitting the eight ball.”
I smile because there is no way he can make this shot. The solid two ball is practically kissing the green striped ball which along with two other balls is hugging the eight ball which happens to be in front of the left corner pocket.
“Fuck it,” Jesse says, grabbing the shot glass and downing it, forgoing attempting the shot.
“Your turn, asswipe,” Jesse says, clearing his throat after his shot. “Red eleven, upper right corner pocket which you have to make your shot from.”
I pick up the cue ball from the other end of the table and place it near the upper right corner pocket. I look up at Jesse to see him smirking like the devil. He pours more Jack Daniels into my shot glass, preparing for me to miss. There is one ball in my path to the red eleven, but I think with the right amount of force, and if I can make the cue ball knock the first ball out of the way but still hitting the eleven hard enough to send it to my end of the table, I might just be able to sink it in the corner pocket.
I whip my head back and forth trying to focus on the shot. I line up my stick with the cue ball, pull it back, and push forward. The stick connects with the ball sending it on the path I laid out. Pool balls collide sending others on different trajectories. The first ball connects with the red eleven sending it my way. I can tell by the time it gets three fourths of the way to me it is losing steam. I get behind it and blow on it. Not that that actually helps. The eleven ball slowly moves toward the pocket and then hangs out on the edge of it.
“Shit,” I say, not thinking it will go in.
Then it does.
“Yes,” I yell, thrusting my right arm into the air.
“No. Way,” Jesse says.
“Hahaha. Suck on that,” I taunt. “And drink up.”
Jesse sucks down the shot and yells afterward.
“Time to get serious,” he says, already starting to slur his words.
I laugh. I love getting Jesse drunk. He is so funny when he’s drunk. He’ll say just about anything. He’ll spill just about any secret. And he has a tendency of dancing. He becomes the life of the party. Sometimes I hold off on the liquor until Jesse is drunk so I can see what he gets up to. Then down a few shots right in a row to join him in on the fun. He reminds me of a little kid when he’s drunk. So happy and so carefree.
Jesse and I miss more shots and down more Jack Daniels, all the while getting more smashed, which only makes us miss more balls in more wholes.
It’s my shot and I can’t see. I blink rapidly, but nothing changes. I step up to what I think is the table but step too close and ram my thigh into it. I shake it off and blink some more, hoping it will clear the blurry vision I’ve got going on. I lick my dry lips and smack them together. I’ve got a good case of dry mouth. Nothing another shot of Jack can’t fix. I line up what I think is my shot then slide my cue stick forward. It flies out of my hands, clangs against the table and rolls onto the floor. My eyes go wide then blink hard.
“Ok,” I say, then jerk back. My voice sounds so loud. Jesse laughs and points at my pool stick lying on the floor. “I think we should stop . . . uh, taking shots.”
Jesse opens his mouth slowly, his tongue lolling in his mouth. “Pool or Jack?” he asks, then laughs again.
I laugh because his is infectious.
“Maybe both,” I say, walking over to the couch and sitting down. I miss the edge of it and fall on the floor. My tailbone hurts but it’s so funny. I laugh harder. I laugh so hard my stomach hurts. Jesse won’t stop laughing either.
“You missed the couch, dumbass,” Jesse says, laughing then clutching his sides.
“I’d like to see you do better,” I slur my words, not entirely sure of what I’m saying.
Jesse strides over to the couch, missing a step or two, then attempts to sit down. He misses too, hitting the floor with a thud, and falls into me. We hit heads and laugh hysterically.
“Ha,” I say.
“Damn, man,” Jesse slurs. “I left my beer over there.”
“Me too,” I pout.
We both eye our beers and stretch out our bottom lips.
“I’m thirsty,” Jesse says.
“Me too.”
“Damn,” we say together.
Jesse and I stay seated on the floor and rest our heads on the seat cushions of the couch. My eyelids are heavy. I’m so tired. I could easily fall asleep right now. My eyelids sag until they close. I hear a noise somewhere in the house and jerk to attention. I blink slowly and look around.
I’m about to fall asleep when Jesse says, “Whaya wanna know?”
“What?” I snap, my head whipping to face Jesse.
“I drunk. I talk. Whaya wanno?”
“Aaahhh,” I say, dragging out the word. “Sleep.”
Jesse nods until his head rests against his chest. I think he’s fallen asleep. I want to fall asleep.
My eyelids slam shut. I’m so close to sleep I can feel it slip over me.
“I know a secret,” Jesse says.
“Mmhh,” I say, too tired to form words.
“Lux is giving the baby up for adoption,” Jesse says as sleep takes me.
Chapter Nine
Sixteen Weeks
Greyson
I jerk awake.
My head spins. My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth. I think I might still be drunk.
Alcohol, ten.
Greyson, zero.
I can’t believe I let Jesse pull out the Jack Daniels last night after we had been drinking beer. When I was a young padawon in the drinking game I practically lived by the saying beer before liquor never sicker. Speaking of sicker.
Bile rises in my throat. I have to clamp my mouth shut to prevent throwing up on the floor. I bolt up off the floor, which does nothing to keep the bile from rising, and run for the bathroom.
I barely get the toilet lid lifted before I throw up into it. It tastes horrible and burns my throat. I stay bent over the toilet. I know there is more to come.
After I’ve emptied the contents of my stomach, I check my phone to see that Jesse and I are going to be late for school. Way late.
I brush my teeth twice to get the taste of puke out of my mouth, wash my face because I have no time to shower, and head back into t
he game room. The effort it takes is abysmal. My brain pounds against my skull aggressively.
I sag down onto the couch and nudge Jesse’s shoulder. “Wake up, man.”
He grunts but doesn’t move.
“Jesse. Wake up,” I say a bit louder.
“No,” he says, not opening his eyes. “Head . . . hurt.”
“Mine too, dude. But we’re going to be late for school.”
“Who cares?” Eyes still not open.
“You’re right,” I say, lying back on the couch and letting my eyes drift shut.
***
I jerk awake.
Jesse said something last night that I feel like I need to remember. Trouble is, I don’t remember it.
I look to my side to find Jesse still leaned up against the couch, still asleep. I check my phone to see we haven’t missed the whole day, if we get up and get our shit together, we can make football practice.
I lean down close to Jesse’s ear and yell, “Jesse.”
Jesse lurches forward, then sways in his spot. I laugh because I can’t help myself.
“What?” Jesse asks, still out of it. “Is it time for school?”
“Not quite, buddy. More like time for football practice.”
Jesse looks offended. “You let me skip school?”
“It was your idea. Go throw up and brush your teeth and we will go.”
He scoffs at me like I’m lying but makes his way to the bathroom.
My eyes trail after him trying to X-Ray vision his brain and figure out what he told me last night. I glean nothing from my lacking X-Ray vision.
It’s not like I can ask him about it. It was drunk Jesse who said it. Sober Jesse isn’t going to remember saying anything. And if he did, and I asked him about it, he would be ashamed of saying it when he was drunk. You only need that to happen twice before you stop asking him.
It’s not like I even remember the subject of what he said. It could be that Amelia is cheating on me. It could be that I failed a class. It could be that his parents are separating. It could be a myriad of things. It could be something that doesn’t even pertain to me, and yet I have this feeling that it does, and that it is important.
What if Jesse told me that he is in love with Lux? He spends a decent amount of time with her. He told me weeks ago that she is nice and smart and fun to be around. Oh my God. What if my best friend is in love with the girl I knocked up? Nah. Jesse has been in love with Amelia for as long as I can remember. I don’t think that is going to change any time soon.
***
“Hike,” I say, catching the ball and rolling back for a pass.
I still can’t figure out what it was Jesse told me last night.
I’m distracted by my need to know, when I get nailed in the side and go down hard, the ball still in my hand.
“Fletcher,” coach yells from the side line. “I know you’re new thing is getting your ass handed to you. I don’t know if it pumps you up or gives you some advantage on game night. But it better never happen on game night. You may already have your scholarship to UNL but the rest of us don’t and we would like to have a winning season. Do you think you can keep it together for a little while longer?”
“Yes, coach,” I say, halfheartedly. “Yes coach, sorry coach.”
“Don’t kiss my ass. Just play your position.”
I get back on the line, call hike and drop back for a pass. This time I get the ball out of my hands, into those of a receiver, and hear coach yip from the sideline.
Practice continues like this until it is nearly over.
But then, one last time, I call hike, roll out for the pass, and see a woman pushing a stroller down the sidewalk along the football field. I’m rammed into from the side, and go down violently, my head slamming into the ground. I see stars, then my pool table, and Jesse sitting beside me.
“I know a secret,” he says.
“Mmhh,” I responded.
“Lux is giving the baby up for adoption,” he says.
Then I see stars again, and the green of the field beneath me.
Coach is yelling at me from the side line, but I don’t care, I can’t hear him anyway.
“Greyson, are you okay?” someone says from over me.
“Greyson, can you get up?” someone else says.
I remain laying in the grass of the field going over the memory I just had.
Jesse leans over me, asks if I’m alright, then extends a hand to pull me up.
I let him. Then I stand there, dazed, unsure of what to do.
“Ho. Ly. Shit,” I say.
My chest compresses in on itself. Not this non breathing thing again. It’s really inconvenient. Sucking in a huge breath, I try to get myself in check. I cannot have a panic attack in front of my entire football team. I would never live it down. I wouldn’t let myself live it down. I’m not the type of person who has panic attacks. Fuck. I am better than this. Stronger than this. It’s that girl and that baby that make me weak. And I hate them for it.
I don’t want that baby. I don’t want to be its father. I don’t want to raise it. I don’t want to teach it things. And yet I feel sick to my stomach thinking that Lux is just going to give it away. She told me she didn’t want my help. She didn’t want my money. This has to be why. I thought it was a pride thing. I thought maybe I had hurt her that night so badly she couldn’t bear the thought of me contributing to the upbringing of this child. But no. She refused me because she will have no need for it. She’s giving it away.
“Fletcher, you feeling okay?” coach asks.
I come back to the present and to my teammates standing around me.
“I’m going to have to call it a day, coach. I got hit a bit too hard there.”
“Do you need to see a doctor?” coach asks.
“No,” I say, too quickly. “No. I’m good. I just need to shake it off.”
“Go hang it up, Fletcher. But I want your head in the game Friday night.”
“Will do, coach,” I say, then blindly walk to the locker room.
I stand in the shower stall and try to get my thoughts straight. I can’t figure out how I feel about the fact that Lux is handing the baby off to strangers. I should be okay with this. I should be more than okay with this. I can go to college and not have to worry about the girl I knocked up back home. I don’t have to worry about my friends or my girlfriend finding out. I wouldn’t have to feel guilty anymore. Lux can go back to her life as it was. She can finish her high school years and go on to college without having to worry about getting a job and taking care of a baby. Yeah. I should be okay with this. However, I’m not sure that I am.
What makes me . . . furious, is the fact that I had to learn it from my drunk best friend. Was Lux ever going to tell me? Was she going to ask if I was okay with it? Did she ever consider how I felt about it?
Fuck.
This should be a good thing. Why am I so upset about this?
I turn the heat of the water up higher until it burns my skin. The sting of my skin keeps my mind from mentally throttling Lux.
Small hands grasp my shoulders causing me to dramatically spin around.
“I saw you come in here,” Amelia says.
My heart hammers in my chest, more from the fact that she scared me, then for her naked form in front of me. Though right now she could be just the distraction I need.
“I got hit pretty hard,” I tell her, grasping her by the waist. “Coach told me to call it a day.”
“I’m glad he did,” she says, stepping into me. “I missed you today.”
Yes. Amelia is definitely the distraction I need. I step out of the stall, find the protection I need, then take her in the shower. Washing away my guilt, my confusion, my anger. If only for the time being.
I leave the locker room before the rest of the team finishes practice. I don’t want to face the questioning look from Jesse. I don’t want to face the teasing looks from my teammates. I need to get out of here and clear my head, get some s
pace.
I drive around aimlessly, music cranked up, letting it pulse through my veins. I pass my house and keep going. I pass Amelia’s house, Jesse’s house, Liam’s house. Finally I get tired of it all and park along the side of the road. I sigh and rest my head on my chest. I’m not sure what I am doing.
By the time I look up and realize my ridiculousness, the day has turned dark. I shake my head and turn to find out where I am.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I say, then burst out laughing.
I am parked right in front of Lux’s house. No freaking way did I not realize I drove myself to her house. I look around me for any other cars or anyone who could place me here. I can’t be here. I hope Lux or her parents haven’t noticed me yet.
I pull away from the curb and drive off. Turning the corner of the block to return to my house, I stop again, remembering that Lux plans on giving the baby away. I park along the side of the road, but don’t turn off the engine. I want so desperately to confront her about it. I want to tell her she should have told me. I want to thank her for ridding me of the guilt by ridding herself of the baby. I want to scream at her and tell her not to do it.
But at the same time, I can’t go confront her because that would be giving away the fact that Jesse told me. How could I betray Jesse’s confidence by talking to Lux about something that I should not know. Granted, it wouldn’t be the first time. I got on Lux about Leah giving Jesse the cold shoulder on her behalf. Now would not be much different. Except an adoption is a little more important than a sibling fight. Not to mention the fact that that was about Jesse, this is none of Jesse’s business so betraying his confidence in this case would be much worse. But maybe it won’t be so bad this time because he doesn’t remember telling me about it. So technically I wouldn’t be betraying his confidence.
Whatever.
I have to talk to Lux about the adoption. And if she holds true to past performance, she won’t tell Jesse I talked to her about it. But then again, she tells Leah everything, so this could erupt a whole new fight between Leah and Jesse. Ugh. Shit.
Whatever.
I shut off my car and walk around the block to Lux’s front door. I knock and am let in by her mom. She regards me cautiously but welcomes me in warmly. She tells me Lux is in her room and walks away from me. I take each step slowly, preparing myself for what I want to say. When I get up the stairs and stand in front of her door, I can’t go forward. Lux sits on her bed, her school books spread out in front of her. I find it funny that she has a desk but would rather use her bed.